


Sworn Sword

by LadyRhiyana



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BAMF Brienne of Tarth, Crack Treated Seriously, Does not follow eps 8.04 to 8.06, F/M, Gen, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-08
Updated: 2019-07-20
Packaged: 2019-10-06 11:37:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17344574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyRhiyana/pseuds/LadyRhiyana
Summary: Brienne meets Jaime first, and poor Renly is utterly overshadowed. When war breaks out, Brienne swears her sword to the Kingslayer.Now complete.





	1. Chapter 1

1\. Tyrion

**

The night before Tyrion’s trial by combat, the door to his cell opens. 

His eyes take a few moments to adjust to the torchlight, but eventually he recognizes his visitor. “Lady Brienne,” he says, surprised. “Does my brother know you’re here?” 

She puts the torch in its bracket and lowers herself down to the floor, so that he can see and speak to her properly. 

Her eyes are very blue, he realizes. Very blue and very pretty, in such a homely face. 

“No,” she replies, bluntly. “He strictly forbade me to come. But what he doesn’t know can’t hurt him.” 

Tyrion would beg to differ, but keeps his silence. 

“Pod tells me that you still haven’t found a champion,” she says after a while. “Ser Bronn won’t defend you. Ser Jaime would, but without his hand…” she pauses. “There is no one else who will face the Mountain for you.”

“Yes,” Tyrion says, wincing, “that is an accurate assessment of the situation.”

She stares at him, a small frown etched between her brows. “You have always been kind to me, Lord Tyrion,” she says. “When I first arrived, and the lords and ladies mocked me, you…” she trails off, swallows, and looks away. “Kinder even than Ser Jaime, sometimes.” She smiles. “I want to thank you for that.” 

Tyrion sighs. “It’s a sad reflection of the world we live in, that kindness should be so extraordinary. But – you’re welcome. We cripples, bastards and broken things should stick together.” 

She winces. Tyrion knows that Cersei had blamed her for the loss of Jaime’s hand, no matter that she could not have prevented it. Nothing could have prevented it, Tyrion thinks. His father had given a man with a cruel liking for lopping off limbs free rein, and it had come back to haunt them. 

“Ser Jaime loves you,” she says. “If he could have fought for you, he would have, no matter the odds against him. And so if he can’t, then I will.” 

He stares at her, lost for words. She’s so young, he thinks. So absurdly young, and so absurdly in love with his blind, foolish brother.

“Lady Brienne,” he says, reaching out to her. “You can’t do that. I won’t let you.” 

She stares back at him, utterly resolute. “You can’t stop me,” she says. 

**

Though it nearly costs her life, his brother’s ridiculous sword-maiden kills the Mountain in a brutal, horrifying duel that will be spoken of for years to come. 

As Ser Gregor’s body is dragged away, Jaime rushes heedlessly down to the arena, lending his strength to hers as she tries, swaying and unsteady, to stay on her feet, her many wounds bleeding and her eyes blurred and unfocused. 

She leans her full weight drunkenly against Jaime, trusting him to hold her up, her blood staining his pure white cloak.

**

2\. Cersei

**

“Lady Brienne,” Cersei says, “I wanted to thank you for saving my brother’s life.”

The big, lumbering creature her brother brought back with him from the Riverlands flushes, making her more hideous than ever. 

“Your Grace,” she fumbles, “it was nothing. In truth, he also saved my life, many times over.”

Cersei smiles sweetly. “Would that you could have saved his hand.” 

The flush recedes and the ridiculous girl goes white. She opens her mouth and then closes it, hunching her shoulders and looking away. 

“Tell me, Lady Brienne,” Cersei purrs, drawing closer. “You are the daughter of Lord Selwyn Tarth, are you not? I understand he owes allegiance to Storm’s End. And yet here you are, your sword pledged to house Lannister.”

The girl’s eyes fly up to hers at that, the first spark of spirit Cersei has seen her display. “Not to house Lannister, your Grace,” she retorts. “I pledged my sword to Ser Jaime.”

Before Cersei can retaliate, she feels Jaime beside her, his warmth, his familiar, beloved scent. But even as she turns toward him, he slips in between her and the wretched girl, standing squarely between Cersei and her prey. 

“Come sister,” he says with an edged smile, “don’t blame Lady Brienne. Will you dance with me instead?” He takes her hand in his left, gently, but the promise of strength remains. 

As they head towards the dancing, Cersei looks over her shoulder to see the girl still standing where they had left her, sending her brother such a wistful, longing glance that it sends her into a futile, towering rage. 

**

3\. Jaime

**

There is a disturbance outside Jaime’s tent. He looks up as the tent flap opens to reveal two guardsmen, hands gripping a tall fair-haired knight. 

“This one rode up to our camp, bold as brass, and asked to see you, Ser,” one of the guardsmen says. “He came along peacefully enough.”

Jaime’s eyes flick over the knight’s shield, quartered rose and azure, and then up to his face, broad and homely and freckled, with only a pair of clear, guileless blue eyes – 

“Lady Brienne,” he says, rising from his chair to greet her. “You are welcome here.” With a gesture, he dismisses the guardsmen, who salute and depart, leaving Jaime alone with his visitor.

She flushes, a deep ugly blotchy red, but her eyes shine as she smiles at him. 

“Ser Jaime,” she says. “I have come to offer you my sword.”

**

When Robb Stark’s army ambushes him in the Whispering Wood, when he realizes just how badly it has all gone wrong, he laughs, kicks his horse towards the very centre of the Northmen, and does his best to cut his way through to the boy-King. 

The fighting is fierce and desperate, but he is one of the foremost swordsmen in Westeros; his blood sings as he cuts down one fierce warrior after another, his eyes fixed on the direwolf banner, but there are too many – 

And then suddenly the Maid of Tarth is at his side, her armour deep blue and her sword crimson in the fading light as she throws herself between him and the advancing Northmen. 

“Go!” she shouts, holding them off – he hesitates for a moment, but wheels his horse and breaks free of the encircling ring of his foes. Behind him, he can hear hooves pounding, and he turns to see her following close behind him. 

**

4\. Brienne

** 

When Brienne is 15 years old, King Robert sends a great force of ships to root out and destroy a pirate fleet that has been terrorizing merchant shipping in the Narrow Sea. The Westerosi fleet, under the command of Lord Stannis Baratheon and accompanied by one of the Kingsguard, is based in the harbour at Tarth. 

The first time she sees Ser Jaime Lannister he is not wearing his white cloak. He’d lost it in some minor skirmish, and replaced it with an ordinary sailor’s cloak, salt-stained, dyed a muddy greenish-grey. His armour is scuffed and battered, missing its usual shine, and he does not look like a perfect knight: instead he looks lean, sun-browned, unshaven and dangerous.

He is still golden-haired and painfully handsome, but he looks like a fighting man, stripped down and approachable. 

**

One day he passes by the practice yard and offers to spar with her. Brienne’s eyes go very wide and she flushes an ugly beet-red as she stammers her acceptance – he grins at her, flashing and wicked as he takes up a tourney sword and steps into the yard, circling, probing, his green eyes fixed on hers. 

Their swords meet in a flurry of clack, clack, clack, smooth footwork and coiling strength; after the first few passes he looks at her with renewed interest. 

“You’re good,” he says. “Graceless, perhaps, but good.” 

He attacks again, and it’s all she can do to match him. He doesn’t hold back, but whacks her painfully when she missteps, knocks her down when she overextends, and always has a sharp comment at the ready. 

She doesn’t complain. Jaw set, her body aching, she picks herself up and faces him again and again, until he finally calls an end to their session. 

** 

Afterwards, as they strip off their heavy padded gambesons and wash off the sweat and dirt at the well, Ser Jaime asks her if she would like to join him the next time the fleet goes out. 

“You’re what – 15 years old?” he asks. “I rode with Ser Arthur Dayne against the Kingswood brotherhood at that age. You’re good enough with a sword – this is a good opportunity to learn to fight for real.”

She stares up at him, her eyes wide. “Yes,” she says, her voice strangled. “Yes, I would – I will.”

**

Her father hesitates and looks grave when she asks for his blessing. 

“It’s as good an opportunity as any,” Ser Goodwin says. “She needs the experience.” 

“Brienne,” her father sighs, “you’re my only child. If any harm should come to you…” 

“Father,” she says, clasping his hands in her own. “I want this.”

**

And so the next time the ships sail out, Brienne joins them. It’s the first time she’s ever been away from Tarth on her own; she finds it intimidating at first, until she learns to ignore the stares and the whispers. It helps that Ser Jaime, too, is isolated from the sailors and the other soldiers; she stays by his side and draws courage from his indifference to rumour and gossip. 

“If I reacted to every slight and taunt men throw at me behind my back, I would have to kill every man who crossed my path,” he says. “Ignore them. Words are wind; it’s our actions which define us.”

They finally catch sight of the pirates on the third day. Lord Stannis roars out orders and the sailors leap to their ropes, unfurling the billowing sails; Brienne laughs with pleasure as their ship picks up speed, the spray flying up from the bows as they bear down on the black-sailed pirates. 

“It’ll be hours yet before we catch them,” Lord Stannis tells them. “Go and lie down, make sure you’re rested; I’ll wake you when it’s time.”

Ser Jaime drops off quickly and easily, but Brienne finds that she can’t sleep, worry and excitement filling her as she stares blankly up at the roof of the cabin.

Long hours later, Lord Stannis’ squire scratches on the door to wake them. 

“The pirates have stopped running and have turned to fight,” the young boy says. “Lord Stannis says it will be soon.” 

Her blood pounding, Brienne fumbles with her armour, blushing hotly as Ser Jaime brushes her fumbling hands away and fastens the plates and straps himself. 

“Remember, Lady Brienne,” he says, pressing her sword into her hand, “don’t worry about fighting cleanly. This is not your practice yard or a dueling ground; kill them as quickly as possible, by any means necessary.”

Her palms are damp and sweating. Her breath rasps loudly, and her heartbeat sounds like a thundering drum. She watches the pirate ships grow closer and closer, until she can make out individual faces – and then they are within boarding distance, and a great roar goes up as the gangplanks are run out. 

Ser Jaime turns to her – “Come on!” he shouts, grinning wildly, racing over a gangplank and leaping onto the other ship. She follows him, her heart in her mouth, and throws herself into the fray – 

She doesn’t remember much after that. She remembers shouting and screaming and the clashing of swords. She remembers killing a man, slashing open his throat and watching him fall, hands clutching at the blood fountaining from his neck. She remembers being knocked off her feet and falling on to her back, a gold-toothed pirate standing over her grinning triumphantly before Ser Jaime runs him through from behind and hauls her back up, shouting at her to take more care. 

She remembers standing back to back with him, feeling the solid strength of him and trusting utterly to his skill. 

And then suddenly it’s all over, the pirates breaking and fleeing and their own sailors and soldiers cheering raggedly; Ser Jaime laughs and claps her on the back, his eyes fierce green and alight with victory. 

She looks down at her armour, dented and blood-spattered, at her sword, crimson with blood. She looks around her at the deck, littered with wounded and bloodied men. 

She looks back to Ser Jaime, golden and beautiful amidst the blood and carnage. Her blood is running hot, pounding and pulsing, and she wants, she wants – 

** 

Later, when Lord Stannis has finally hunted down the last of the pirates, burned their ships and hanged the survivors, Ser Jaime extends her an invitation. 

“When you’re ready to leave Tarth for the wider world,” he says, “come to me. I would gladly have you fight by my side.” 

** 

The next year when Renly Baratheon dances with her at her father’s ball, it’s not his young, handsome face and deep blue eyes she thinks of, but golden hair and wicked green eyes and a smile that cuts like a knife.

**


	2. The Kingslayer's Sword

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Every lord has need of a beast from time to time, his father had always said. 
> 
> Jaime’s beast is a tall, lumbering ox of a woman, an ugly, broken-nosed swordswench with broad shoulders, gentle hands and the bluest, most guileless eyes he’s ever seen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little drabble furthering this particular AU.

Every lord has need of a beast from time to time, his father had always said. 

Jaime’s beast is a tall, lumbering ox of a woman, an ugly, broken-nosed swordswench with broad shoulders, gentle hands and the bluest, most guileless eyes he’s ever seen. 

Brienne the Beauty, men had once called her, mocking her – until she slew Ser Gregor Clegane in single combat. 

Now they call her Brienne the Blue. Brienne the Brave. 

Or, simply, the Kingslayer’s Sword.

** 

“I don’t like this place, Ser Jaime,” Brienne says. “The air is – poisonous.”

“I don’t much like it myself,” he replies. “But I’m the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. Where else am I supposed to be?” 

But soon enough, Cersei sends him off with the Lannister armies to take Riverrun. Even though he’s going away from Cersei, from Tommen, he can’t help but feel lighter – he’s always felt most comfortable in the field, not playing poisonous games in King’s Landing. 

Brienne rides by his side. Guards his back. Shares his tent. She sleeps on a separate pallet, beside him; the sound of her steady breathing in the night is - comforting. 

Men would talk, if she weren’t so ugly. But the Lannister soldiers hold her in awe.

_She rescued him from monstrous direwolves at the Whispering Wood,_ they say. _She avenged the loss of his hand. She killed the Mountain himself for love of him._

_And she asks nothing in return._

** 

Some of them call her not Kingslayer’s Sword but Kingslayer’s Whore. But not in Jaime’s hearing.

Not after what he did to that cunt Ronnet Connington.

**


	3. The Field of Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne doesn't approve of the sack of Highgarden. But then the Dothraki come thundering down the hill, and the dragon attacks. [Or: Brienne, not Bronn, is at the Field of Fire with Jaime]

Brienne is waiting for him outside Lady Olenna’s solar. Her expression is troubled, her blue eyes shadowed. 

“You heard?” Jaime guesses. 

She falls into step by his side, her hand playing over Oathkeeper’s hilt. 

“I heard,” she says. And then, just before they leave the shadowed corridors for the light of the courtyard into the sight of the Lannister troops, she puts her hand on his arm, staying him. “Was she wrong?” 

He turns his head, looks up into her face. He doesn’t pretend not to know what she means. 

_She’s a monster, you know. She’ll destroy you in the end._

So now they come to it. The thing that has remained unspoken between them since they returned from the Riverlands to find the Sept of Baelor a smoking ruin. 

“What do you want me to say, Brienne?” Jaime asks. 

Her eyes are so very, very blue. He remembers the young sword-maid he met so many years ago, her eyes so wide and innocent. 

He had confessed so many of his sins to those wide, innocent eyes. He can’t bear to see condemnation in their depths. 

“Where do you draw the line, Ser Jaime?” she asks finally. “You killed Aerys, but the Queen will be an even worse tyrant.”

“You don’t know that,” he retorts, but it’s a hollow response and they both know it. They’ve both seen the growing madness in the Queen’s vicious reprisals, seen the terrible lengths to which she’ll go in order to maintain her hold on the throne. 

Jaime knows it, deep in the hollow of his gut. He lived two years in the Mad King’s court, had stood as unspeaking witness to the old man’s terrible pleasure in inflicting pain and fear. 

And now he stands unspeaking witness to a Mad Queen. 

Why is Cersei any different? 

Because Cersei is his other half. Because he loves her. Because he has done terrible things for that love. 

Because he does not know how to be anything – anyone – else. 

Suddenly he is afraid. 

“She’s my sister,” he says simply, desperately willing Brienne to understand. “I love her. I’ve always loved her. And now we’ve got no one else but each other. Who – what am I, if I betray that?”

Brienne looks suddenly sad. “No,” she says softly. “You’re more than that.”

“And besides,” he continues, smiling crookedly, “I’ve burned all my bridges. There’s nowhere in the Seven Kingdoms I won’t be hated and reviled.” 

“Jaime,” she says, reaching out to take his hand in hers. “Please. You can’t go back to her. Come away with me – we can go to Tarth, or the Free Cities – there’s a whole world out there where no one has ever heard of House Lannister or cares about the Mad King’s death.” 

For a long, silent moment he is tempted to leave it all behind, to free himself of all the vows and the expectations and the long, tangled years of mad, terrible love. Brienne’s eyes are so blue and straightforward and pure, and she makes it sound so simple. 

But just as he opens his mouth to answer her – he will never afterwards be sure what he meant to say – one of his captains coughs discreetly from the courtyard and calls out. “Lord Lannister?” 

Slowly, deliberately, Jaime squares his shoulders and untangles his fingers from hers. 

“I’m a Lannister,” he says, as if it explains everything. Perhaps it does. “Don’t ask me to betray my own house.”

** 

Things are – difficult – between them after that. There is a reason the words had remained unspoken between them for so long; Brienne had remained loyal to him even after his affair with Cersei was made public, through a long, bloody, treacherous war, through ups and downs and twists and turns. 

All those long years she stood by his side, believing that he was worth serving, that somewhere beneath the ruins of his reputation he was still – despite all evidence to the contrary – an honourable man. 

_Where do you draw the line, Ser Jaime?_

As they ride out of Highgarden with the spoils of the victory, Jaime can’t meet Brienne’s eyes. 

**

When the Dothraki come thundering down the hill, screaming and shrieking and laughing as they turn slaughter into a terrible game, there’s no time for reflection. It’s all they can do to hold their ground; Jaime and Brienne call out desperate orders, rallying and exhorting the men to lock shields and stand their ground. It even seems to be working, for a time – 

Until the dragon comes. 

As he watches his men burn, helpless against the nightmare raining fire down on them from above, as he smells the horribly familiar odour of burning flesh, Jaime feels a kind of madness creeping over him, feels the old temptation to simply go away inside, to deny the horror he can’t bear to witness.

Brienne – who knows him better than Cersei, in some ways – turns to face him, her face soot-blackened and spattered with blood. “Jaime!” she calls him, reaching out to grasp his shoulder and shake him. “Jaime, are you with me?” 

He stares at her desperately, his mind seeing not the fire and devastation before him but the Mad King’s throne room, his ears hearing not the dragon’s triumphant roaring but Aerys’ echoing laughter and the screams of his burning victims. 

“Jaime!” Brienne says again, before her mouth firms with resolve and she slaps him, hard, across his cheek – a short, sharp shock that jolts him out of his paralysis. 

“We have to do something!” she says desperately. “Jaime, please!” 

Brought back to himself, he shakes his head, trying desperately to focus. He can see nothing but fire and smoke and the men who had followed him screaming as they burned. But perhaps – 

The smoke clears for a moment, and he can see the distant form of the dragon circling, preparing for another pass over the battlefield.

“The scorpion,” he rasps. “If we can bring the dragon down –” 

He looks to her. She nods, utterly resolute. As she spurs her horse towards the covered wagon containing Qyburn’s giant weapon, he turns his attention to the men around him. 

“Hold the line!” he calls. “Hold!”

They look at him with a desperate, despairing hope. The Dothraki cut them down and the fire spreads, uncontrollable, but he rallies them, calling for archers, does what he can to maintain order as the world burns around him. 

They hold. Against all reason they hold, impossibly courageous, because they believe in him. But then the dragon comes around again and burns them all to ash. 

He thinks he might be weeping. 

When he hears the dragon scream, sees it spiraling helplessly towards the ground, he feels a moment of mad hope – _of course!_ he thinks hysterically, _of course Brienne can slay even a dragon_ – but then the monstrous beast levels out and hovers, vast wings spread, impossible, just above the scorpion’s wagon – 

“Brienne!” he shouts as the dragon opens its maw and fire pours out, incinerating the wagon and everything on it. 

He turns his face away. All around him he can hear men screaming, wagons burning, Dothraki barbarians laughing as they slaughter his men where they stand. He smells nothing but blood, and burning flesh, and the terrible reek of dragonfire. His mouth tastes of ash and copper and fear. 

He hears her voice. _Where do you draw the line, Ser Jaime?_

When he sees the dragon land, wounded, when he sees the tiny silver-haired queen struggling to pull the bolt out of the dragon’s shoulder, unaware of her surroundings, he’s not thinking of survival. He’s thinking of his men, burning; of Brienne, so utterly resolute; of Aerys and his obsession with fire. 

He feels – numb. Empty. Exhausted. 

When he picks up the spear and charges, his mind is far, far away. 

_I should have gone with you to Tarth,_ he thinks.


	4. The Line

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is a parting of ways. (Jaime and Brienne over episodes 7.5-7.7)

**1.**

With a last, desperate burst of strength Brienne hauls Ser Jaime out of the river, drags him onto the bank and collapses beside him, coughing and gasping for breath. In the distance, a plume of oily smoke still rises above the battleground, and thin, drifting flecks of ash fall like snow from the uncaring sky.

She can still see the dragon’s vast maw opening, see the red-hot flame cascading towards them as she lunges across at Ser Jaime, knocking him off his horse; she can still feel the incredible heat pass over them as they crash into the river, vaporizing the water – 

She turns towards him. “What were you thinking?” she demands, fear and relief and anger all mixed together until she doesn’t know what she feels. “What the fuck did you think you were doing?”

She’s shaking, she realizes. Shaking and chilled, though the sun is high and warm overhead. 

Ser Jaime is staring out over the river, his eyes distant and unfocused. “I thought,” he said, “I thought I could end it all with one blow.” 

“And did you see the dragon between you and her?” She’s so angry that she shoves him, knocks him back to the ground as she looms over him. “Listen to me,” she hisses, grabbing his breastplate and shaking him. “I haven’t followed you for years, kept you out of trouble, endured mockery and scorn and lies so that you could throw it all away charging at a – a fucking dragon!” She’s shouting now, but can’t seem to stop herself. “You don’t get to throw your life away, Jaime! Not when I –” 

She trails off. He stares at her, his eyes wide, and she realizes that she’s crying. 

**2.**

Lord Tyrion is older and more careworn, his eyes sadder than when she saw him last. But he still smiles with his old, sardonic charm.

“Lady Brienne,” he says, smiling, trying to charm her as he had done when they first met – before she killed the Mountain for him. Before he killed Lord Tywin anyway and fled into exile.

Brienne only braces her shoulders and sets herself firmly in his way. 

“Please,” he says, “I need to speak with my brother.” 

She glowers down at him, arms crossed. “I saw you,” she says, “up on the hill, watching.” 

He looks alarmed. “Did Jaime –”

“No, he was too busy trying to salvage something from the disaster.” For a moment, Lord Tyrion looks relieved. But Brienne continues, relentless. “But I saw you watching on, with your Dothraki escort – tell me, Lord Tyrion, did you enjoy the view? Did it please you to watch Lannister soldiers burning? Did you enjoy watching your Queen burn Lord Tarly and his heir to death?” 

“No!” Tyrion says. “Believe me, Lady Brienne, I took no pleasure in it. I tried to dissuade her from killing the Tarlys. And besides,” he adds, unable to hold his too-clever tongue, “if we’re speaking of burning our enemies, my dear sister is hardly without sin.” 

She stares at him for a long, long time before finally nodding. “Very well. I’ll bring you to see Ser Jaime.”

**

After the secret meeting with Lord Tyrion, Ser Jaime goes straight to the Queen. They are closeted together for long hours, long enough that Brienne fears she will not see him until the next morning. But he returns to his chambers late in the night, his face a curious mixture of elation and disquiet. 

“Cersei is –” he swallows, and can’t quite meet her eyes. “She’s with child.” He doesn’t need to say whose. “She says that this time, she’ll openly acknowledge me.”

Brienne doesn’t know what to say. That day on the Blackwater Rush, before the Dothraki and the Dragon Queen came, she thought she might have gotten through to him, that he might have been considering – 

But she can’t compete with the Queen. She can’t compete with a lifetime of tangled love and loyalty and shared joys and losses. 

She can’t compete with – 

A child. 

“Do you know, when Robert was alive I used to believe that I would happily kill everyone else in the world, if only Cersei and I could be together.” He barks out a sudden laugh. “How the gods must be laughing at us.”

**3.**

Long, uneasy weeks pass. The Queen’s iron-fisted rule – and her influence over Ser Jaime – grows crueller and more terrifying. Brienne finds herself wondering why she remains in King’s Landing, when every instinct in her longs to flee. 

On the day of the Dragonpit, when Brienne sees the undead wight for the first time, everything becomes suddenly clear. 

It’s only afterwards, when the Queen sends the Lannister generals away to have private speech with her brother, that Brienne begins to be afraid. She refuses to leave Ser Jaime’s side – not with the Queen’s monstrous protector so close – and so she has a first-hand view of the Queen’s madness and delusion. 

Ser Jaime argues with her, to no avail, and Brienne can see first his incomprehension, and then his incredulity, and then finally his realization that here, and now, must be where he finally draws the line. 

When the Queen refuses to let him leave, Brienne is standing right behind him, her hand openly gripping Oathkeeper’s hilt. There’s a long, tense moment, and then the undead Ser Gregor draws his sword – swiftly, instinctively, Brienne stands before Ser Jaime and unsheathes her own. 

But brother and sister pay no heed to their fierce protectors; mirror images, their eyes, fierce Lannister green, locked on each other’s – 

“I don’t believe you,” Ser Jaime finally says. 

He turns his back on her and walks away, leaving Brienne to stare warily at the Mountain, at the raging, furious Queen – but the Queen does not give the order, and the Mountain remains unmoving. 

“Lady Brienne,” Ser Jaime calls, before he leaves the map room entirely. “Come with me.”

She follows him out of the room, out of the Red Keep, and away from King’s Landing and the Queen forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There should be one more chapter, set in Winterfell.


	5. At Winterfell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sworn sword!Brienne and Ser Jaime during episodes 8.02 and 8.03.

**Prologue (Tormund)**

**

“The Kingslayer has come to Winterfell,” rumour says, knights and men at arms and servants whispering it amongst themselves with wide eyes. “Bold as brass, though he never brought no Lannister armies.”

“Well, what did he bring?” Tormund asks, sick of this Southron lordling already, King-killer or no. 

“Himself,” a northern warrior says, spitting in the dirt. “Naught but himself, and his Whore.”

“I wouldn’t call her that, though, at least not too loud,” a knight of the Vale says. “They say the Kingslayer knocked out a man’s teeth for speaking it in his hearing.”

“Ha!” Tormund grins. It sounds like the man has balls, at least. “And is she beautiful, this Kingslayer’s Whore?”

“Brienne of fucking Tarth?” The Hound snorts out an incredulous laugh. “She’s freakish big and freakish strong – the ugliest bloody woman I’ve ever seen in my life.”

And really, after that, Tormund has to see the newcomers for himself. 

** 

Brienne of Tarth is _magnificent_. 

Tall, strong, stern, she holds herself with all the confidence of a warrior. Her armour is battered and scratched, showing hard wear and long use. She stands one step behind the notorious Kingslayer – looming half a head taller than her pretty Southron lord – and glowers dourly at the Dragon Queen and anyone else who looks crosswise at him, her hand gripping the golden hilt of her sword. 

Later, when one of the Dothraki approaches her and propositions her in his barbarian tongue, making kissing noises and obscene gestures, she drops him with one blow. 

** 

**Arrival**

** 

She’d not expected a warm welcome. 

But standing before the vengeful Dragon Queen and the ice-cold Lady of Winterfell, Brienne feels the enmity of every man and woman in the hall pressing against them. Ser Jaime stands tall and seemingly unafraid, though she can sense his finely drawn tension; she stands at his back, looming, projecting as much menace as she can. 

Ser Jaime has finally chosen honour over love and loyalty. She will kill each and every one of them before they take him. 

** 

“We were at war,” Ser Jaime says defiantly. “Do you expect me to apologise? I won’t.” 

Even in the face of imminent death, he is unapologetically himself.

The boy in the wheelchair – the child Ser Jaime had crippled with such throwaway ease – watches on with cool, inhuman indifference. 

Lord Tyrion speaks on his brother’s behalf. Jon Snow publicly contradicts the Queen by saying they need all the men they can get, no matter their previous sins. 

Lady Stark weighs Ser Jaime with cold, calculating blue eyes.

But in the end, they are allowed to live. 

** 

**Last night on earth**

** 

There is a fire in the great hall. An impromptu gathering forms, drawn by warmth and light and the promise of wine and companionship. Complete strangers were often drawn together the night before a battle, seeking human contact before the last.

“Who would have thought it,” Tyrion says. “The Lannister brothers together again, on this last night before the world ends.” He raises his goblet in a mock-toast, inclines his head towards Brienne. “And Lady Brienne, of course – my brother’s ever-faithful shadow.” 

Ser Jaime smiles. “To Lady Brienne,” he says, and drinks. His eyes are soft, his sharp edges blunted – they’re all a little drunk, she thinks, and why not. 

She remembers the first time she fought beside him, so many years ago. He’d turned to her at the last moment, laughing; she’d followed him with her heart in her mouth and thrown herself into the fray. 

She’d been 15 years old. She’d known, even then.

“Is it true you killed a Southron giant to save the King-killer?” the great ginger wildling asks. He’s gazing at her with undisguised curiosity and wonder. 

Brienne coughs. “To save Lord Tyrion, not Ser Jaime,” she protests. “And besides, the Mountain was only seven feet tall.” 

“That’s right,” Lord Tyrion says, grinning. “Lady Brienne fought direwolves and dragons and the Mad Queen herself to save my brother.”

Ser Jaime only laughs. “My gallant lady knight,” he says fondly. But then he looks at her, frowning, and after a while says: “Why not?” 

“Ser?” Brienne asks, puzzled. 

“Why not?” he says again. “Were you a man, I’d have knighted you ten times over.”

She stares at him, her heart pounding in her chest. Ser Jaime Lannister, she thinks. Knighted by Ser Arthur Dayne himself. And now – 

“Do you want to be a knight or not?” Ser Jaime asks, half-jesting. 

Slowly, her senses swimming from more than just wine, she rises on leaden feet and kneels before him, staring up at him with wide eyes. She remembers the first time he had sparred with her in the practice yard at Tarth, the way he had so casually asked her to join him in the next battle. 

_“Yes,”_ she had said then, her voice strangled. _“Yes, I would – I will.”_

When war broke out after King Robert’s death, she had gone to fight with Ser Jaime, not to Storm’s End. She had stood beside him through victory and defeat, through upheaval and unrest and betrayal. She had killed Ser Gregor Clegane for him, because he could not do it himself. 

She had stayed with him even in the face of dragonfire, even in the face of Queen Cersei’s wrath. 

And now – 

Each touch of his blade holds tangible weight, as he lays the charges upon her. 

“Arise, Ser Brienne of Tarth,” he says, his voice solemn and his eyes utterly sincere. 

** 

**Here, at the end of all things**

** 

When the dead come, they face them together. They fight side by side and back to back, lost in the chaos of a never-ending night and an overwhelming foe; they only know that if they stay together they will live. 

He steps in to save her when she loses her footing and goes down under eight or nine at once. She pulls him back from the brink when they threaten to pull him over the battlements. 

They steal desperate moments of rest. In a momentary lull, lit by hellish orange fire and drifting smoke, she leans against him, gasping for breath, feeling him brace himself and take her weight. She realizes after a moment that he’s swaying on his feet, and slowly forces herself back upright. 

When the dragons scream overhead and billowing cascades of fire rain down from the sky, she does her best to hold him together. 

And as the long hours pass and fatigue and countless small wounds sap their strength, as their swords grow heavier and heavier and they are driven back until they can retreat no farther, they glance at one another, and like always, they need no words. 

They stand back to back, as they have done from the very first, trusting to each other’s strength and skill, and they simply hew at the dead like axe-men, planting their feet standing their ground as the dead come at them in endless waves, over and over and over again, until – 

Until – 

Until suddenly it’s all over. 

Just like that. 

For long, long moments, Brienne stares, uncomprehending, her breath sobbing harshly in her ears. Finally, she turns to face him. His eyes are dark and shocked, just as hers must be. 

“Is it over?” he dares to ask, his voice hoarse and cracked. 

And then: “What do we do now?”

** 

They stumble through the ruined halls of Winterfell, holding each other up, until they find an empty chamber. Brienne kneels down to light the fire, and Ser Jaime fumbles at his armour with one hand, until Brienne takes over. He returns the favour, and when they are both shed of the weight of steel and leather they collapse, exhausted, onto the bed. 

Side by side and back to back, they fall into a deep, dreamless sleep.


	6. The Final Act of Devotion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the Long Night, Jaime goes with Brienne to Tarth. But there is no escaping the Dragon Queen's justice. Not to worry: his trusty sworn sword Brienne will simply have to save him one last time.
> 
> Or: Brienne vanquishes a foe even more fearsome than the Mountain and receives her just reward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Diverges from canon after episode 8.03.

**

**1\. Tyrion**

**

What comes next is a strange in-between time. The war against the Dead is over, and the temporary alliances made against the Long Night are parchment-thin, now, as Daenerys turns her gaze south. 

Tyrion hears the muttered comments and feels the slow, ugly stirrings. The whispers of _sister-fucker_ and _Kingslayer_ once more follow Jaime wherever he goes. 

Jaime’s smiles become sharper and sharper, and he retreats behind his old damn-you-all pride. 

** 

“What will you do now?” Tyrion asks.

“Who knows?” Jaime says lightly. “I’m clearly not welcome here.”

Tyrion exchanges a swift glance with Brienne. 

“Whatever you’re thinking,” Tyrion says, his tone half-warning, half-jest, “don’t.” 

Jaime’s green eyes are steady, and his smile is a pleasant warning. “My dear brother. Much as I love you – piss off.”

** 

“Ser Brienne,” Tyrion says, later that night. “My brother is a fool.”

Her smile dies. “How do I stop him?” she asks. As if Tyrion had not asked himself that very question, over and over again. “I can protect him from everything and everyone except himself.”

“Perhaps,” Tyrion says slowly, “it’s time you both finally acknowledge the truth you’ve been avoiding for 10 years.”

Brienne’s face flushes, blotchy, ugly red. “No,” she breathes. “No, I can’t – what if…?”

“Brienne,” Tyrion says, “he will only go back to Cersei if he thinks he has nothing left. Give him another choice.”

** 

Much later, in the early hours of the morning, he sees the door to Jaime’s chamber half-open, Brienne and Jaime seated in two armchairs before the fire, the comfortable trust and intimacy of their long companionship clear for all to see. _“Come away with me,”_ he hears Brienne say. 

Two days later they depart together for White Harbour, and then to Tarth. 

** 

But that is Tyrion’s last triumph.

Things unfold very badly when Daenerys goes south. Rhaegal dies, and Missandei. Tyrion betrays Varys and watches on, horrified, as he is roasted alive. 

The city surrenders, but the vengeful Queen burns it anyway, and the streets explode with dragonfire and wildfire combined. 

Daenerys Targaryen becomes Queen of the Ashes. 

** 

**2\. Brienne**

**

The days and weeks following their departure from Winterfell are good. Very good. On the long journey to Tarth, they draw closer and closer together, becoming more attuned to each other than they had ever been. 

Nothing is spoken or openly acknowledged. They don’t – quite – take the last step into physical intimacy. But they wallow in the slow, delicious tension and anticipation. 

There is time enough, now. All the time in the world. 

But less than a month following their arrival on Tarth, a ship comes bearing news of the fate of King’s Landing – and a royal messenger with a summons from the new Queen.

He and his sister are to stand trial for their crimes. 

**

“I’m coming with you,” she insists.

He frowns at her. “It’s too dangerous,” he replies, absurdly. 

The messenger coughs discreetly. “Ser Brienne of Tarth has also been summoned,” he says. “The Usurper Cersei Lannister has been granted the right to trial by combat. She has named Ser Brienne as her champion.” 

There is a moment of appalled silence. 

“And who is to be the Queen’s champion?” Jaime asks. 

The messenger looks uncomfortable. 

“Ah,” Jaime says. “Her dragon.” 

**

**3\. Cersei**

**

The night before the trial by combat, the door to her cell opens. 

Her eyes take a few moments to adjust to the torchlight, but eventually she recognizes her visitor. “Lady Brienne,” she says, with a cruel smile. “Does my brother know you’re here?” 

Jaime’s tall, hulking warrior-maid puts the torch in its bracket and turns to face Cersei. Her eyes are very blue; as clear and pure as the Maiden’s. 

_They haven’t fucked yet,_ Cersei marvels. _No woman who has taken a lover can have such innocent eyes._

“He knows,” the great hulking beast replies, bluntly. “Why did you name me as your champion? Do you truly think I can save you from the dragon?” 

Cersei laughs. “You saved Tyrion from the Mountain, did you not?”

“The Mountain was only a man.”

“I think,” Cersei says, “that you fought Ser Gregor not for Tyrion’s sake, but for Jaime’s. What won’t you do, for our beloved Jaime?” 

Her hand darts out, grabs the beast’s huge, calloused hand, and presses it against her belly, against the child growing within, tumbling and kicking eagerly. “Tell me, Lady Brienne,” she says, low and sweet and poisonous, “what won’t you do to protect Jaime’s child?” 

“His child? Not his sister?” 

Cersei laughs. “Do you truly think the Dragon Queen will let me live? Even if you triumph, she will find another way. But perhaps – just perhaps – the child might be saved. And if that happens, you swear to me,” she hisses, pulling the other woman closer, “swear to me that after I am dead, this child will live and take its rightful place.”

**

**4\. Jaime**

**

“You don’t have to do this,” Jaime breathes, his hand cupping her cheek, his brow pressed against hers, his eyes searching hers, finding no doubt or shadow, only conviction. “Don’t throw your life away.”

She frowns at him. “I am your sworn sword and shield,” she says. “For 10 years I have followed you. I killed the Mountain for _you_. If I must kill even a dragon – or a Dragon Queen – to save you, then I will.”

He closes his eyes, “Brienne,” he whispers. “Please. I’m not –”

“I know what you are, Jaime,” she says. “You may not be a good man, but you are the man I chose to follow. This is _my_ choice. You can’t take it away from me.”

A clear, cold voice cuts through the air. “Ser Brienne of Tarth. You are willing to act as champion for the Usurper Cersei Lannister and her lover the Kingslayer?” 

Jaime drops his hand as though burned. Brienne blinks and draws away, turning to bow before Daenerys Targaryen. 

“Yes, your Grace,” she says. “I will be their champion.” 

“Very well,” the Dragon Queen says. “If you can defeat my child, Drogon, then Cersei and Jaime Lannister will go free.”

** 

The trial by combat takes place in the Dragonpit. Thousands of people crowd into the arena, drawn by swift-spreading rumour and tales of star-crossed love. Brienne looks absurdly small in comparison to the vast black bulk of the dragon; smaller than she had looked against the Mountain, or even against the bear. 

And yet she stands tall and brave in her blue armour, her hand clenched on Oathkeeper’s hilt, her courage and indomitable will clear for all to see. The smallfolk are cheering and calling her name.

On his left side, Cersei sits, fierce and proud even now. Only her hand, trembling slightly as it rests protectively on the child within her, gives any indication of her tension.

Jaime can’t bear to watch. Breathing unsteadily, he fixes his mind on the golden sands and clear sapphire waters of Tarth, on the soft sound of the waves and the high calling of the gulls. 

_Come away with me,_ she’d said a second time, after the Long Night. _We’ll go to Tarth, leave everything behind – we’ll bask in the sun and swim in the sea until even the memories of winter fade._

They had gone to Tarth. They had basked in the sun and swam in the sea. 

They’d thought they had all the time in the world.

“Jaime,” Tyrion says, breaking into his reverie. “I swear to you, this is not what I intended.” 

Jaime blinks. Brienne is still alive, still darting in and out of range, trying to avoid the long, snaking neck and the great fire-breathing maw. On his right side, Tyrion looks wretched; Jaime hopes – perhaps unfairly – that he is remembering his own trial by combat. 

Would Brienne have tried to save even Lord Tywin?

“You believed in her,” Cersei says, fiercely, speaking across Jaime to Tyrion. “You chose to follow her. It was your choice, made freely.”

“I didn’t know she would –” Tyrion breaks off. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.” 

“And yet it did.” Cersei’s eyes are burning green. “You’re so clever, brother,” she says, “so cunning and quick-witted. How are you going to fix _this_?”

A great roar rises up from the crowd as Drogon opens his great jaws and crimson fire pours out. Brienne darts out of the way Just in time, rolling and coming up with her sword in hand. 

Jaime blinks. For a moment, he is on the Field of Fire, hearing the screaming of his men. _Blink_ , and he’s back in Winterfell, the darkness illuminated by great cascades of flame. 

_Blink_ , and he hears Aerys Targaryen laughing as his victims scream. 

Brienne rises, screaming defiance, and launches herself up onto the dragon’s shoulder. It rears up, roaring, and beats its great wings, raising a storm of dust. 

_Blink_ , and he and Brienne are swimming together in the clear blue water, and her eyes are shining as she looks at him – 

The dragon screams, shrill and horrifying, stumbles and crashes to the ground. There’s a horrible tearing sound as Oathkeeper’s Valyrian steel blade rips at its wing, and Brienne roars in triumph as she strikes again and again, plunging her sword into the dragon’s black hide.

On her throne, the Targaryen Queen has gone as white as her hair. She sits, frozen, her hands gripping the arms of her throne with white-knuckled force.

Cersei laughs, high and wild and triumphant. 

** 

**5\. Brienne**

** 

The dragon is dead. 

The enormity of it will sink in later, but for now she only looks to Jaime, golden and beautiful. The noise of the crowd and the pain of her injuries seem to fade away as she stares into his green eyes, wide and astonished and filled with bemused wonder and admiration. 

She remembers the first time they had fought together, all those long years ago. After that battle, her blood had run hot, pounding and pulsing, and she had _wanted –_

_I killed a dragon,_ she thinks absurdly. _For you._

The Queen’s cold voice interrupts the long moment and draws her attention away. “Cersei Lannister and Jaime Lannister,” she announces, rising from her throne, her face pale and her eyes burning. “The gods have spoken. You are free to go.”

The roar of the crowd is almost deafening. 

And by the look in the Queen’s eyes, it would be best to go very, very far away, and soon. 

**

That very night, in a village half a day’s ride from King’s Landing, they find a septon. 

Brienne is still wearing her scorched and battered armour, her wounds hastily bandaged. Adrenaline had sustained her for most of the day, but exhaustion has finally begun to creep in; she leans much of her weight on Jaime as they stand before the altar.

As always, he’s more than strong enough to hold her up. 

Tyrion beams proudly as Jaime drapes his anonymous travelling cloak around her shoulders. The first touch of his lips is – sweet. Such an unexpectedly sweet reward. 

Over Jaime’s shoulder, Brienne sees Cersei, watching with her fierce green eyes, her hand pressed over the child in her belly. 

** 

Later that night, in the shadowed privacy of their chamber at the inn, Jaime rewards her in full for her long years of faithful service, for her extraordinary courage and daring, for saving his brother and his sister and himself. 

The second time is not a reward but an affirmation.

**

**6\. Bonus Chapter – Sappy/Crack!Epilogue**

** 

Two years later, Brienne wakes just before dawn. The sky is flushed with rose and azure and gold. Jaime’s side of the bed is empty; she pulls on a tunic and breeches and sets out to find him. 

Just as the sun comes up and floods the hills and valleys of the Westerlands with light, she tracks him down to the highest battlements, where heavy banners snap and sing in the breeze. 

After the death of her dragon, Daenerys had fallen even deeper into madness. Jon Snow’s act of regicide had led to the new king being elected by the great lords of the kingdom – Tyrion’s doing, Brienne knew.

By then, Brienne and Jaime had retired to Tarth with Cersei’s son (born just before she had died suddenly of an unknown fever). But Tyrion, the new Lord of Casterly Rock, had asked if he could adopt his nephew as his heir. And so they had come to the Westerlands to introduce young Tybalt to his inheritance. 

Tyrion and Jaime are holding Tybalt up so that he could see over the battlements, and Jaime is whispering in his ear – 

“Look, Tybalt,” Jaime says. “Everything the light touches is ours.* The entire Westerlands shelters in the shadow of the great Rock. One day,” he says, “it will all be yours.” 

Tybalt’s hair falls in golden ringlets, and his eyes are emerald green. Brienne can’t look at him without seeing Cersei, fierce and unrepentant. But she can also see Jaime, laughing and proud and smiling warmly at her – 

Perhaps one day she’ll look at the boy and see only Tybalt. 

“Ah,” Jaime says, turning to face her. “Lady wife.” He smiles, leans up to press his brow against hers. “Good morning.”

“Lord husband,” she says in turn. 

They exchange kisses, as the sun rises over Westeros. 

**** 

END

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (*"Look, Simba. Everything the light touches is our kingdom." Yes, from the Lion King.) 
> 
> Thank you to all who have commented and left kudos since I first began this story. I've been blown away by the lovely response.


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